I walked closer to the edge, trying to think through my recent findings. Was I getting sidetracked from my main mission—the investigation of my son’s death—by inexplicable connections to a remote mining town? How did it matter if Kusro and Jacob and Baba and Raj’s father were donating to the same charity? After all, Kusro and Jacob were possibly funding many others. Baba had always been impulsive in his philanthropy. Maybe this organisation was particularly canny at appealing to all kinds of donors? If not for my bizarre garden dreams, if not for that haunting scream, would I have discarded these links as being immaterial to my pursuit?
A few metres behind me, a despondent Hansika ambled along the pebbles that lined our lake walk. Apparently the new pup, the one that Hansika had adopted at Damini’s urging, was also sickly. The dog wasn’t eating as well as he should be. ‘I knew I wasn’t ready, Veds. I’d already failed Topsy, how could I handle another dog?’ I knew exactly what Hansika felt, the erosion of self-confidence mingled with grief, the tilting of everyday routines into jarring surrealness. Could either of us be reliable carers of anyone or anything? ‘Besides, my father-in-law’s here. He lives in a farmhouse near Bangalore, since my mother-in-law died. I’m already handling Adit and now him. On top of it, the pup’s not well. The vet says there’s nothing overtly wrong but --’
‘Your father-in-law’s here?’ I said, mentally making a note to bump into Raj’s father soon. ‘What’s he like?’ I didn’t want to arouse Hansika’s suspicions by asking about the Dhoolvansh school straightaway.
The cicadas chirped louder as the streetlights grew more luminous against the darkening sky. I side-stepped a squelchy, flattened toad, possibly squashed by some kid’s bike.
‘In some ways, impossible. Raj has this weird relationship with him. When he’s not around, he’s always praising him. He hero-worships his Dad. Papa was a self-made man, and a very successful one at that. An industrialist with many businesses. He shut them all down because none of his sons wanted to run his empire.’
‘And when he’s around?’ I was listening to Hansika, but my thoughts were still coiling around my snarled puzzle. Why hadn’t Ma and Baba ever mentioned their Dhoolvansh stint earlier? It was rattling, as their daughter, to have known so little of their history. Why was my stepmother privy to their past when I wasn’t?
‘When Papa’s in town, they’re always bickering. Practically at each other’s throats. They’re both such strong characters,’ Hansika said.
‘What do they bicker about?’
‘About this project. About Kusro. You know, Raj is very fond of Kusro. And his dad said he met him on a flight, and that he wasn’t impressive at all. Raj almost flew at him. He said, ‘it takes a genius to spot another genius’ or some such thing.’
‘Did Raj’s father own a business in Bihar?’
‘In our home, that’s a banned topic. Early in our marriage, I was asking him about his time in Dhoolvansh. And my father-in-law just lost his temper for no reason...’ The yellow light from the lamp above, casting angled shadows in our pathway, seemed to amplify the darkness beyond as night began to descend. I started.
‘Dhoolvansh? Hansika, wait a minute, did you just say the business was in Dhoolvansh?’
‘He won’t talk about it.’
This was even stranger than Hansika imagined. Why was Raj’s father as tight-lipped as Baba about that period in his past? What had happened there? Why was it still bearing down on us like some unforgotten grievance? ‘Have you heard of The Dhoolvansh Missionary School?’
‘I’ve heard Papa mention it sometimes to Raj, but he won’t talk about it to me.’
‘Does he fund the School? Send money there?’
Hansika shook her head. ‘You don’t know Raj’s father, Vedika. If a topic’s banned, it’s banned.’
‘How much longer is he here for?’
‘Couple of weeks. Why?’
THIRTY
SINCE OUR ICE CREAM date, my relationship with Bijoy had grown stronger. Often, the kid voluntarily dropped into my home, assured of cheesy macaroni and a chatty game of Pictionary or Monopoly. Moreover, he and Rhea became thick friends. Together, they romped around with Thambi and Mariamma, my maid turning out to be as enchanting with kids as Manas was. There were times too, when Mariamma occupied Rhea with dressing-up games, while Bijoy lingered by my side, absorbing the crease patterns for basic origami forms, stuffing his pockets with cranes and owls and purple parakeets. Perhaps it was familiarity, or perhaps his therapy was helping, because the kid constructed more complex phrases in our presence. His tongue still twirled over words, but the sounds were increasingly intelligible to us.
There was one time when Mariamma had ushered Rhea into the outhouse, while Bijoy and I dwelt on making fiddler crabs from single sheets. The bodies took shape and we were just drawing out the outsized claws, when Rhea returned, with a triumphant shine on her face. ‘I’m a bride,’ she said, and clambered onto a wooden chair. I smiled weakly at the dabs of red lipstick and over-bright rouge, smudged on her face like the crayon colouring of a child. Bijoy clapped and said, ‘Booty,’ while Rhea pirouetted around to show off her newly-attached false braid. It was a long, sinuous streak across her back and my scream startled Rhea into a shocked leap, the chair toppling on her. I could barely move, the dark twists provoking that inexplicable fright in me. Mariamma had rushed in by then, to rescue my daughter’s tangled limbs from the chair’s angled fall. As she lifted Rhea to wipe off her tears and console her, I tried to temper the irrational beasts inside me.
Later, we laughed, all four of us. Mariamma had purchased a false braid to infuse their make-believe sessions with more excitement. I was touched too, by how hard my maid tried to bring joy into my daughter’s life. After all, that braid, woven from real hair, was not cheap.
When Bijoy and I returned to our crabs, I was still unsettled. I had folded a male fiddler earlier - a very demanding task that required a meditative focus—but I was dismayed it wasn’t emerging as it should. Bijoy, too, tried many times over. But even if he failed to create the large-clawed crustacean, he stitched together his longest phrase to date: ‘Is okay, Auntie.’ I hugged him and called Bishnu, my voice cracking with pride at his progress. ‘That’s what I love about our place,’ Bishnu said. ‘It’s not one mother raising one child, it’s a village.’ I was stung by the trust she reposed in me, but I tried to talk myself out of my guilt. At least something good was emerging from my covert mission. As we unfolded our eight-legged forms to start over again, I was glad of my least likely ally.
Later that afternoon, Bijoy, Rhea and Mariamma embarked on a finger-painting project, based on an idea I encountered online. Rhea dabbed her little hands in blue paint, Bijoy in green and Mariamma in purple. Together, they affixed their fingerprints into butterfly and flower shapes on an A4-sized sheet that I stuck on the refrigerator door. I couldn’t help but notice how worn out the lines seemed on Mariamma’s fingers, with some lines on her thumbprint ending abruptly. Encountering her shapes every morning felt like a necessary but always slightly hurtful rebuke to my own privileged position.
After my walk with Hansika, I asked Mariamma to keep a watch on Raj’s house and alert me if an older man emerged. A few mornings later, with excited gestures, my breathless assistant came rushing home to tell me that Raj’s father was walking around the lake.
At Fantasia parties, Raj often bragged about his father’s business success: ‘A self-made man, built his own construction company.’ I had often glimpsed Raj’s father from a distance during his previous visits, but had never been formally introduced to him. Raj’s father was built exactly like Raj. Despite his age, he had the same muscular heft, the same prominent, thrusting chin, the same squarish face. Of course, his back had a slight stoop that Raj hadn’t acquired yet. But the resemblance was so striking, that Tushar had labeled them ‘Senior’ and ‘Junior’, when they were spotted playing golf together.
I flashed a cheery smile at Senior Mehta, when I fell in step w
ith him on the lakeside path. ‘How are you?’
‘Good morning, you must be Vedika,’ he said, turning to me with a surprising alacrity.
His remark stopped me in my tracks. I knew him because he was Raj’s father, but how did he know me?
‘Uh, yes,’ I said.
‘Your face is fresh and young. If Raj hadn’t told me anything, I would have never guessed that you have withstood such suffering.’
Knowing what I knew of Raj’s blunt ways, I sensed that Senior Mehta’s thorny statement was intended as a compliment. But I could feel the heat rushing to my face, and I knew, without staring at my reflection in our glassy waters, that my nose and cheeks had turned scarlet. I had barely spoken to this man but I was already rattled by him.
‘I think you’ve been here from the beginning?’ he continued, unmindful of the effect of his opening remark. If I hadn’t been fuelled by my insidious purpose, I might have vanished from his sight before he said anything else. Instead, I stood there watching a mottled brown frog leap from our grassy banks into the lake.
‘Raj said you founded a construction business. Are you still involved with that?’ I said, hoping to conclude our discussion soon. I planned to shun the lake path and golf course path and any other path he happened to invade during his two-month stay at Fantasia.
‘That’s history. Business has been sold. The environment is not the same place anymore.’
‘Your business was in Dhoolvansh?’
‘How did your son die?’ The galling man seemed to change tacks as swiftly as I did.
‘In an accident.’ I paused. ‘Were you in Dhoolvansh for long?’
A few minutes ago, I had wanted to flee his company. But now, he was the one who departed, rapidly. ‘What does it matter, the business is already sold. I have to go now, my daughter-in-law’s waiting for me.’
In the meantime, I started hearing rumours about Mariamma. I wasn’t privy to all the talk, but there was the occasional comment I heard from other women. ‘How’s your maid doing?’ someone like Razia would ask me while we were at the pool. ‘She’s fine,’ I’d shrug, ‘why?’
‘Some people were saying she’s odd.’
‘In what way?’
‘Nothing specific, but doesn’t look trustworthy.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s odd, the way she looks...’
‘I haven’t seen anything to make me suspicious.’
Then Razia would purse her lips, as if she had more to tell me, if only I were willing to listen. And truly, I wasn’t. I didn’t want to hear anything against Mariamma, and then hunt for another maid. I felt that other women were envious of my peaceable live-in and judgmental about her appearance, as I’d foreseen. After all, it wasn’t easy to get an uncomplaining, diligent worker. Especially not someone who cared for Rhea with a grandmother’s attentiveness and bottomless affection. There were instances when Mariamma had even reprimanded me for being impatient with Rhea. But despite my obstinate defense of my maid’s character, rumours continued to circulate. The talk had to do with Mariamma wandering about the place too much, about her stealing into other owners’ gardens, especially during the morning hours, when the milk and newspapers were being delivered. At one point, I confronted her. ‘Mariamma, someone said you were inside their garden, near the front door. Why?’
‘Plucking puja flowers, Madam,’ she said.
‘But you can’t do that, not from anyone’s garden. People are very strict here about these things.’
‘Sorry Madam,’ she said. She promised not to do it again.
Yet the talk still whirled about. There was a new, salacious angle. Folks said something was ‘going on’ between Mariamma and the milkman, something ‘improper’. I knew the milkman and Mariamma were acquaintances, after all he had dispatched her to my home. But a romantic liaison between them seemed improbable. Mariamma must have been at least 25 years older. Besides, it wasn’t just her age. With her humped back and crooked teeth, she didn’t exude any kind of sensuality. Though even if there was a relationship, why did it matter? They were, after all, consenting adults.
‘It’s spite,’ I told Manas. ‘They want me to get rid of her.’ I wasn’t willing to puncture my household’s equilibrium for flimsy reasons.
I continued to stalk Senior Mehta. I frequently walked by Raj’s home, hoping to snare him on a morning or evening saunter. However, the few times, I spotted him, he was always accompanied by Raj or Hansika. I could hardly interrogate him in their presence.
On another afternoon, Rhea spotted him heading out, alone, to the Zen garden. When I hastened there, Senior Mehta was already settled by the fish pond, dozing by the soporific gurgle of our mini waterfall. I sidled up to him on the bench, careful not to arouse him from his drowsy state. With my arms and feet toasted by the late afternoon sun, I watched a bluebottle fly buzz near a bush of red geraniums. Inside the pond, orange fish darted between long, green leaves. In a few minutes, I must have fallen asleep too, because a little later, I prised my eyelids open when I felt the bench stir with his movements. He seemed unexpectedly cheered by my sudden presence. A smile hovered on his double chin: ‘Hello, Vedika,’ he said, watching me intensely. ‘You are outdoors in the afternoon? Is that why youre skin’s so dark?’
I had been the one stalking him, hoping for a private moment to resume our earlier conversation. But already my stomach was churning, and I watched the garden steps, waiting for someone, for any saviour to pop into view. Why had I willingly marooned myself with such an aggravating man?
‘Vedika,’ he said, again. It was annoying that he knew my name so well, and that he addressed me so intimately, as if he’d been one of those indulgent uncles who watched me grow up. ‘Are you trying to have another child? A boy?’
It was warm. The sun, filtered through the large gulmohar tree behind the bench, showered silver sparks on the water falling before us. The bench was small, cozy for two people. I thought Mehta was going to suggest some ‘miracle cure’ or some weary traditional tips on how-to-get-pregnant, like other officious and over-solicitous women used to at one time. I edged towards the lily pond, wondering how I could steer the conversation towards the past.
‘My advice is, don’t have one. It’s not worth it.’ He looked at me as he said that, closely, as if he were reading my mind. ‘Look at me, I have three sons. And not one of them has sustained my business.’ The bluebottle fly that had been hovering near the reddish-orange geraniums started buzzing between us. I swatted it impatiently, and it fell near my feet in a metallic lump. ‘Even in those days, the quality of our construction was so much better than all this. Have you seen the flaws here? I can’t believe the builder has done such a shoddy job.’
‘Have you spoken to Raj? He’s the President here, he’s the most powerful person in our community.’
He sighed loudly and shook his head. ‘That’s the problem, Vedika. Raj will not listen to me. He thinks I’m a senile old man who’s out of tune with current designs. He’s so defensive about this place, you would think he’s the builder. On my first visit, when I pointed out many issues in the drainage system and civil works, he was so upset, he asked me to leave if I didn’t like it.’
‘Didn’t you meet with Kusro on a flight? What was he like?’
‘I lied about that. You see, Raj worships the man as if he’s some God. Just to shut him up once, I said I met the builder on a flight and he seemed very ordinary. Truth is, I don’t know who the idiot is, never met him. Raj is so proud of the special invite he received to live here, that he will not listen to reason. Even as a child, he used to be like this. Stubborn as a pig.’
Two round-faced boys darted into the park with electronic space-ships that beeped and buzzed with blinking lights.
‘I heard you ran a very successful business. That must have been incredibly tough, especially in Bihar.
‘Entirely self-made, my business. My father was an illiterate farmer. I wasn’t born into privilege.’
‘Wasn’t your business headquartered at Dhoolvansh?’
‘Look at those boys,’ Mehta said, deliberately ignoring my question. ‘Running around without parental supervision. When my kids were kids, my wife was with them always. But Sundays were Papa’s days when boys were with me. That was when we watched Batman movies. ‘Senior Mehta chuckled softly.
‘Batman movies? I didn’t know there were any then?’
‘They were Raj’s favorite. So much time I spent with the kids but did any one do what I wanted them to do?’ Fortunately the old man couldn’t see that my palms had turned clammy and white.
I heard a sound behind the geranium bush and turned. Fortunately, it was only a cat. Turning a wary eye on the steps, I said, ‘Who was his favorite Batman villain?’
Before he could respond, I heard voices, Joanne’s and Razia’s. Soon they were descending the steps leading to the garden and Senior Mehta rose with a loud burp. ‘We can meet again tomorrow Vedika, I can tell you many stories...’
As Mehta’s ponderous back receded, I dwelt on that innocuous detail he had let slip. Raj had watched Batman movies every Sunday? Didn’t it seem strangely obsessive?
Before I could meet with Senior Mehta again, there was a flutter in the community. Raj’s father had collapsed suddenly, in the house. Kalpana and I were walking together, up the palm-lined road when a guard alerted us to the emergency. When we reached Raj’s villa, the old man was slumped on the floor.
‘Move away everyone, move away, he needs air,’ Damini said, taking charge as always. Apparently Hansika had been out on a walk, but Damini had been in the vicinity and summoned in by a guard. She lifted him from his fallen position and moved him to the couch, where she rested his head on a raised cushion. I wasn’t sure if he was unconscious, or had merely shut his eyes, but before I reached the couch, all colour had receded from his face and he was holding his chest and panting. Earlier I had dwelt on those times that reinforced the benefits of a close-knit community like ours. This was one such time, because soon word had spread and a zealously helpful crowd gathered around. Jacob offered to drive him to the hospital, Kalpana fetched an ice pack from her fridge, Sid directed us on the right position for a heart patient. A slew of people volunteered to ride with Raj and his father, but eventually we voted for Sid, who was a doctor, and Jacob, who had contacts with hospital bigwigs. I offered to ride with them too, but Raj rapidly dismissed my offer: ‘No women, Vedika.’
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